


Extenuating Circumstances

by teyla



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: BDSM, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-11
Updated: 2009-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/pseuds/teyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master regenerates, and his new body is significantly different to any of his previous ones. The Doctor is intrigued. Things go from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extenuating Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Daphnie.
> 
> **Beta**: Euclase

The orange explosion of light that accompanies the Master's regeneration fills the TARDIS' control room, and the Doctor squints against it, trying to make out the shape of the Master's changing body in the glow. He's worried. The Master's done this too many times; he shouldn't even be able to anymore.

But it works. When the streams of light dissipate, the Master's still standing, reborn in a new body.

Reborn in a new, rather female-looking body, that is.

The Doctor blinks and shakes his head, then looks again. "Are those. . . breasts?"

"What?" The Master's voice is not the voice of a man.

The Doctor has heard of things like this happening, but he's never witnessed it. He leans in a little closer, narrowing his eyes in curiosity, taking in the long, dark hair and slim, womanly profile. But there's no time to marvel. The Master, addled from the trauma of regeneration, sways on his feet, and the Doctor hurries to support him.

Yes. Definitely breasts.

_Oh, he's not going to be happy._

"What the hell is going on?" The Master swats at the Doctor's hands and struggles to regain his balance. "Don't touch me, I'm--"

He looks down at himself and his words die in his throat. His hands go up to cup his breasts and then wander down over the flat stomach to definitely womanly hips. After a short moment where neither man dares move, the Master slides his hand cautiously between his legs. His expression goes from shocked confusion to shocked realization. "I don't believe this."

The Doctor raises an eyebrow, then slips his hands into his pockets and steps back. "It appears that you are a woman," he states.

The Master snarls. No, it would have been a snarl in the old body. This is more of a sneer. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. I did notice the lack of equipment."

"I wouldn't call it a lack." The Doctor shrugs. "It's just, you know--different."

"There is no _penis_!"

The Doctor bites the inside of his lip, trying to hide a smile. "Well, no, there wouldn't be," he agrees. "But you've got a pair of breasts now. And quite a good pair."

"Really?" The Master looks down at his body again, then looks around the room. "What do I look like? Don't you have a mirror somewhere?"

The Doctor takes a moment to look the Master up and down. He has to say, the new body really isn't bad-looking at all.

"You look fine," he assures the Master. It sounds a little unenthusiastic, so he adds, "very beautiful, in fact." That doesn't really come out right, either, and earns him a glare. The Doctor clears his throat. "There's a mirror in the wardrobe; are you feeling well enough to, uh, pick an outfit, or do you -"

"Shut up and show me where that wardrobe is."

"Right." The Doctor nods. "Follow me."

-###-

The Doctor has always had a fondness for clothing. He likes to collect it, to keep pieces from all the times and places he visits the way other people collect coins or stamps. Naturally, this fondness has resulted in quite an abundance of clothing in his wardrobe, including a section devoted to humans and human females.

The Master, however, doesn't care about the clothes, at least not at first. He makes a beeline for the nearest mirror.

"Great scrolls of Rassilon," he mutters after he's stared at his reflection for a moment. "I don't believe this."

The Doctor watches as the Master runs long, delicate fingers through his hair, and then bends forward and squeezes his breasts together, frowning at his cleavage.

"You're right," the Master says. "They're really not bad."

The Master in previous regeneration has never had a lot of shame, and it seems that it's not different with this new persona. Without much fuss, the Master shrugs out of his previous regeneration's clothes, shedding everything including the suit, the shirt and the tie as well as his underpants. He then turns to the Doctor, completely naked, and strikes a pose, with one hand on his hips and his head tilted to one side. "Have you got any bras anywhere?"

The picking out of the outfit takes quite a while, but the Doctor is proud to say that he's able to keep any impure thoughts at bay for most of the time. He shows the Master the part of the wardrobe where he keeps the women's clothing, and patiently waits for the Master to go through most of it as he gets a taste for the feminine elegance of his new body. The Master finally settles on a pair of wide-cut black trousers and a white blouse with slit trumpet sleeves. He is adamant to point out that he hates the sleeves, but the blouse was the only shirt in that wardrobe deemed marginally acceptable.

He finishes it all off with black, spiky shoes, and when the Master in his new regeneration stands before the Doctor, fully clothed and with a challenge in his dark blue eyes daring the Doctor to make a stupid remark, the Doctor has to swallow and once again fight to keep any impure thoughts from surfacing.

"Very impressive," he says, trying for his most innocent tone. He doesn't think he's succeeding too well.

The Master smiles a thin smile.

"You've always had a taste for the fair sex, Doctor, haven't you?" He walks towards him, and the Doctor's impressed with how quickly the Master's learned to not only handle the distribution of weight in this new body, but even to play with it and make it look sexy. The Master puts a hand on his shoulder and then walks around him, his arm sneaking around the Doctor's shoulders, his warm weight leaning against him. His voice is low and amused and definitely seductive, and right there next to the Doctor so he can feel the warmth of the Master's breath on his skin. "So, what's your verdict on this edition?"

"Ah." Highly eloquent. The Doctor tries again. "As I said, you look impressive."

"Impressive?" The Master leans in even closer, and the Doctor can feel him flick his tongue against his earlobe. "Not stunning? Amazing? _Beautiful_?"

This has to stop. It's going nowhere good. "Yes, yes, and yes," the Doctor says as he turns around to face the Master. "Look, what are you -"

He's effectively cut off when the Master presses his lips against his own. It's the strangest sensation. The Doctor knows the Master, has known him through several regenerations, and this kiss is definitely Master-style--sudden, intense, aggressive. But the lips the Doctor can feel on his are soft and feminine, and the body pressing against his own has curves and breasts and feels so very different to the masculine body that usually accompanies this type of kiss.

That's not to say it's not hot. Quite the opposite.

The Master unceremoniously sticks his tongue into the Doctor's mouth as the hand that is not around his shoulders slides down to press against the Doctor's crotch. The tingling just below the Doctor's stomach explodes into something much more intense, and the Doctor slips his arms around the Master's narrow waist, pulling him in closer, reciprocating the kiss.

Or trying to, but as soon as he does, the Master breaks the kiss and pulls back, long-fingered hands on the Doctor's chest pushing him away. The Doctor blinks in confusion, and then his eyes are caught by the Master's, who is regarding him through long lashes, a wry smile playing about his lips.

"Oh, Doctor," he says. "Eager little man; where's your self-control?"

And that's just not fair; he wasn't the one jumping the other here. The Doctor opens his mouth to say as much, but the Master silences him by pressing a finger to his lips.

"Shush, Doctor." He pulls his hands back and walks a few steps, making a hand-waving gesture at their surroundings. "This is not the place I want to try this new body." The Master's hips are swaying, making the black fabric of the trousers ripple. "I want something special," he continues as he turns around and leans against the wall, hips tilted, one leg pulled up and the high-heeled black shoe planted against the wall, all casual provocation. "Come on, Doctor, it's a big TARDIS. You're bound to have some luxurious love shack in here somewhere."

As a matter of fact, the Doctor does. But that's not where he's going to take the Master. He's had an idea. Smiling, he steps over to the door and opens it, making a small, courteous gesture with his hand. "After you, Master."

-###-

Time Lords are not, and have never been, much about compromise. This shows in any aspect of Gallifreyan culture, including interior architecture. Most of the Doctor's TARDIS is kept simple, the interiors thrown together of whatever was available at the time, but there are a few exceptions. The library is one; this room is another.

It's big, so big it's almost a hall, and perfectly circular. The ceiling is curved in a high dome, its colour giving it the illusion of being transparent--if the person looking up is used to seeing a sky of burnt orange, flecked with frayed clouds of a dark brown and blurry smudges of deep red and bright yellow. If the onlooker's eyes follow the curve of the dome downwards, they won't see the transition between ceiling and wall--an optical illusion maintained by the TARDIS. The sky goes seamlessly over into the wall, which merges with the floor in a slight curve, meeting the edges of the lush carpet that covers the floor. There's not a lot of furniture in the room; in fact, the only piece is a round platform in the middle of the room, whose edges are merged with the floor in the same way the walls of the room are. The platform is a little less than two feet in height, eight feet in diameter, and covered with a mattress and pillows and blankets.

It's the TARDIS master bedroom. Every TARDIS has one; it's part of the default set-up. The Doctor never uses it, but for some reason, it feels appropriate for this.

"You kept it." The Master walks along the wall, trailing his fingers over the ornaments and reliefs embedded in it, the clacking sound of his high heels subdued by the carpeting. "You kept the bedroom. Why Doctor, I would have never thought you much of a patriot."

"The things you don't know about me." The Doctor is leaning against the wall next to the door, watching the Master.

The Master throws an almost sly look over his shoulder and changes direction, away from the wall and towards the bed. Without breaking his stride, he shakes off his shoes, first the left, then the right, and then steps onto the mattress, making the covers dip and ripple as he walks to the middle of the circular bed. He stands, his feet planted about two feet apart, facing the Doctor with his hands clasped behind his back. His head is tilted backwards, and a thin smile is playing about his lips. Black, straight hair is falling down onto his left shoulder, where it splays out in strands, a stark contrast to the white fabric of the blouse.

"Now, Doctor." The Master's voice is cool, calculating, but the Doctor can hear a trace of something else in it, something that he hasn't heard in the Master's voice for a long time. For lack of a better word, he would call it confidence. Confidence and superiority, but not accompanied by spite. Instead, this confidence is accompanied by amusement.

The Doctor draws in a breath and doesn't move, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You really want this, don't you? You don't want just _me_, you want this body. A _woman's_ body." The Master's thin smile widens a little. "All those women you have travelled with, smart women, strong women, haven't they taught you anything? Or maybe," and the Master raises his eyebrows, "maybe they have. And maybe you want me to continue the lesson."

The Doctor answers the Master's gaze with an expression as emotionless as he can manage. It's hard, because he knows this game, knows what happens next, and yes, he does want it. He always does. "I'm not the one who started this," he says. "That was all you, Master."

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course." The Master is still smiling that amused little smile, and his hands are still clasped behind his back. "Come here."

The Doctor complies. It's part of the game, this century-old game they began playing back when the orange-burnt sky above them was still real. He walks across the room to the bed, taking off his jacket as he goes, slipping out of his shoes and socks before he steps onto the bed. He takes off his tie and is about to drop it onto the floor when the Master shakes his head.

"No. Keep it."

The Doctor raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Tie my hands together."

That's new. That's not part of the game. The Doctor hesitates, but there's a challenge in the Master's eyes; it's practically a demand, and so the Doctor steps even closer, the mattress underneath his feet dipping. He reaches around the Master with both hands, practically embracing him, and only breaks eye contact when he's close enough to look over the Master's shoulder to see what he's doing.

The Master's scent hasn't changed. Throughout regenerations and body changes, it never does. This close, the Doctor can smell him, the clean, clear scent of this man he has known for so long who is now trapped in a woman's body. The Master's breasts are pressing against the Doctor's flat chest as the Doctor slings the dark-blue tie around delicate, female wrists, once, twice, before he ties a knot, immobilizing the Master's hands behind his back.

He stays where he is for a moment. His throat is dry, and the Master's skin under his fingers is smooth, the body pressed against his different, so different from a man's.

"Get back." The Master's voice is sharp, and the Doctor obeys immediately, breaking the embrace and taking a step backwards, somewhat unsteady on the dipping mattress. The Master is watching him, and there is no smile on his face now, no sign of amusement in his cold eyes. "Undo my blouse."

The Master stands perfectly still as the Doctor undoes the buttons, one by one, until the last slips through the fabric and the blouse falls open, revealing pale skin. The Master isn't wearing a bra, and his nipples are small and hard, the curves of his breasts merging smoothly with his body. The Doctor flicks his tongue over his upper lip and raises a hand to cup the Master's left breast, long fingers exploring smooth skin, his thumb brushing over the nipple.

"How many women have you done this with?" The Master's voice is calm, detached, without a hint of anything that would betray his arousal.

The Doctor shakes his head, his left hand going to the Master's other breast. "I don't know."

"Too many to keep count?"

The Doctor raises his eyes. "That's not what it's about."

The Master holds his gaze for a long moment; then he straightens his back, pulling back and forcing the Doctor to drop his hands. "Take off your clothes."

Shirt, trousers, t-shirt, pants, and the Doctor stands before the Master naked, his erection straining as the Master's eyes trail over his skin. This body may be the body that the Master knows best--second only to the Doctor's very first regeneration. He had a whole year to get to know every inch of skin on this body. The Doctor is at a disadvantage here; the Master changed his body. Only right now, it doesn't feel like a disadvantage at all.

The Master's eyes are sparkling with amusement--and, the Doctor thinks, desire, although the Master is hiding it well. "Well then, Doctor," he says, his voice quiet. "Take what you want."

The Master stands perfectly still, his hands immobilized behind his back, as the Doctor steps closer. He puts his hands on the Master's hips and then slips them around to his back, pressing his palms against the hollow of the Master's spine as he pulls him against himself. Skin brushes against naked skin, and the Doctor's mouth seeks out the Master's.

The Master's lips are soft and cool and taste exactly like they tasted in all the Master's previous regenerations. The way he kisses is the same, too; straightforward, no playfulness at all. If it weren't for the female body pressed against his, the Doctor wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

His hands wander lower, and without breaking the kiss, the Doctor moves them around to the front of the Master's trousers. A quick flick of his fingers and a slight pull against the fabric, and the trousers are undone, falling onto the bed where they pool around the Master's feet, joined quickly by the simple pair of black panties the Master had been wearing.

The Master stays passive while the Doctor is undressing him, reciprocating the kiss, using his teeth to capture the Doctor's bottom lip for a moment before letting go and allowing the Doctor to run his tongue over the Master's lips and teeth. When they're both naked, the Doctor leans in even closer, using his lips to caress the Master's jawline, pulling the other Time Lord towards him until their bodies are pressed against each other. The Doctor buries his face in the side of the Master's neck, taking in the scent, strands of the Master's hair falling into the Doctor's face. He can hear the Master breathing--deep, regular breaths that he feels in the Master's chest rising and pressing against his, and he can feel the warmth of the Master's body, so close to his own. His erection is pressed against the Master's skin, tingles of electricity creeping up his spine.

"Did you miss me, Doctor?" The Master's voice sounds different when he's so close; the Doctor can hear as well as feel it with his whole body. "Did you think about me while I was gone?"

The Doctor's eyes are closed; it's easier that way. Easier to imagine them cut off from everything, the past, the present, both their lives and the universe. Just the Master and he, in this room, on this bed, an island.

"I did," he says, his voice muffled as he speaks against the Master's neck. "Of course I did."

"Show me, then."

Without moving back, the Doctor slips a hand around and between them, his fingers brushing over his own erect penis as he slides them down between the Master's legs. He's pressing his mouth against the Master's neck, and he can feel the Master's pulse under the skin, the two hearts in the Master's chest beating away, the pace picking up as the Doctor's fingers slip between his labia. It's warm and wet, and like any other woman's he's ever been with--vagina, clitoris, and as he starts to gently rub around the latter, the Master trembles in his arms. It's a slight tremor, almost unnoticeable, but the Doctor knows the Master. This is new to him, a new body, a _different_ body. The Master is venturing into unknown territory, and he trusts the Doctor to come with him.

The Doctor pulls back a little, his free hand going to the Master's breast while the fingers of his right are still stroking his clit; slow, gentle strokes. He wants to make this good, wants to do right by this man he's known for so long. He looks at the Master, seeks out eyes that are so feminine now, but yet still the same--eyes the Doctor has known for centuries. They're closed off, they always are. The Doctor can't remember the last time he saw the Master look at him openly, but the Doctor thinks he can see _something_ in them. Something other than spite and distrust.

The Master answers his gaze with a silent nod. "Use your mouth."

The mattress ripples as the Doctor gets to his knees. He can smell the Master, a stronger scent now than the one he smelled before--the smell of sex. Arousal tingles up and down his spine, but he doesn't touch himself. Instead, he bows his head, using one hand to pull the Master's labia apart. He's done this before, many times, and he knows he's good at it. The Master tastes strong, sweet and familiar, and without stopping, the Doctor slips a finger inside him, moving in and out, his fingertip brushing over warm, wet skin and sensitive spots.

The Master has never been vocal during sex. His latest regeneration hasn't changed that. He comes, and all the Doctor hears is a short, choked gasp, and suddenly the Master is moving away from him. The mattress shifts as he takes a step backward.

The Doctor sits back on his heels, looking up. The Master stands before him, naked, his chest heaving visibly. He's not looking down at the Doctor, but rather up at the illusion of the orange sky above them.

The Doctor waits. His own arousal is burning, but he doesn't move, just waits, watching the Master.

Finally, without looking down, the Master speaks. "Untie me."

The Doctor's about to get to his feet when the Master does look at him. "No," he says. "Don't get up. Just untie me."

It's a little awkward, but with some fumbling, the Doctor manages to undo the restraint while kneeling before the Master, his arms reaching around to his back. As soon as he's loosened the knot, the Master shakes off the tie by himself, and the next moment, he gives the Doctor a hard shove.

The Doctor lands on his back, bouncing a little as he falls onto the bed. The Master wastes no time in straddling his hips. The Doctor gasps as long, strong fingers grab his cock, and then he's slipping into a warm, wet space, a tight ring of flesh sliding along his erection.

"Look at me." The Master's voice is sharp, and the Doctor seeks out the Master's face, and he knows that his own eyes are open now, as much as the Master's were closed before.

The Master slips a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him up, kissing him, all teeth and tongue, and he doesn't let off until the Doctor's out of breath. Then he starts moving, back and forth, up and down, and the Doctor throws his head back, his mouth open and dry as he breathes, in and out, in rhythm with the Master's movements, heat blooming at the base of his spine and starting to spread out from there to the very tips of his fingers.

The Master's teeth against his throat is what pushes him over the edge. The Doctor comes, hearing his own strangled cry as if through cotton. He falls back down onto the bed, warm breath going in and out of his chest, and a sudden cool waft washing over him as the Master climbs off of him. His still half-erect penis twitches, then lies still.

The mattress moves again, and the Doctor can hear the muffled sound of bare feet on carpet. He looks around and sees the Master, his clothes slung over his arm, crossing the room and heading for the door. The Doctor takes in the long, curved lines of the Master's naked body, from the back of his head along his spine down long legs to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a shower."

-###-

It's only when the Doctor wakes up that he realizes he fell asleep. He's alone, lying naked on top of the covers in the circular bed, looking up at the orange vastness of the ceiling. His time sense is telling him that it's been two hours since the Master left.

He rolls off the bed and grabs one of the thin blankets to wrap around his shoulders. It's more for warmth than decency; he knows that he's alone in his ship even before he wanders into the console room to ascertain that fact.

One of the Vortex manipulators he keeps under the console is gone. Following a hunch, the Doctor checks the wardrobe, and when he finds that most of the women's clothing has disappeared, he can't help but smile.

_Trust him_.

Fifteen minutes later, he's showered and clothed and decent again. He's back in the console room, running detailed diagnostic checks on all systems. If the Master has tampered with any of them, the TARDIS will tell him. Somehow, though, the Doctor has a feeling that the systems will be all in working order.

While the TARDIS is running diagnostics, the Doctor's fingers are playing with the controls of the subwave tracer. If the Master used a Vortex manipulator, it'd be more than easy to find out where he went.

The Doctor doesn't. After a few moments of contemplation, he leaves the TARDIS to run her checks and wanders into the kitchen. The next time the Doctor sees the Master, he might not be a woman anymore. He might be a different woman. He might be the same woman, but the Doctor himself may have changed. The next time they see each other, everything will be different.

It's always different. That's the one thing that never changes.


End file.
